Life of a Salesman
by Yours Truly x3
Summary: One shot song fic. Spot Conlon and his father are so alike but so different. I really don't know what to rate this. It mentions whores and sex but doesn't go into it. READ AND REVIEW!


Disclaimers: I don't own newsies or the song "Life of a Salesman" by Yellowcard. 

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My father was an evil man. Sheridan Conlon was his name. He was a harsh, cruel, Irish man. He lied to my mother the day they met. He seemed nice and acted like a pure gentleman, but once they got married that all changed. They soon had me, Liam Conlon. Thank God I was a boy because if I wasn't, my father would have beaten my mother and would have killed me. He wanted a son. Only a son. After me there were no children.  
  
**What's a dad for dad?  
Tell me why I'm here dad  
Whisper in my ear that I'm growing up  
To be a better man dad  
**  
My father was a dangerous man. He gambled, he drank, he beat. It was never safe at home, unless he was out at a bar drinking, but me and my mother knew it wouldn't be safe for long. The time I was alone with my mom were the best moments of my life. Juliette Demi-Conlon was her name. She was the most beautiful, loving, gentle, French women anyone could ever know. How my father was so brutal to her was impossible to understand. She would tell me stories, play with me, and just make me so happy. I guess I can't say my life was all that miserable. My father went out every night for hours. So every night for hours I would spend time with my mother. She didn't always have happy things to tell me. I wanted to know what my father was like before I was born. She would tell me, "He wasn't always bad." In her soft voice and explain everything to me.  
  
"Your father was a great gentleman. I had never met a better person, so it seemed. My father approved of him which made him even better. We got married and it was all down hill from there."  
  
Her stories made me cry sometimes, and she would sing me sweet, French lullabies in her sweet, French accented voice. I loved her voice. It was the only thing that would put me to sleep. But my slumber was always interrupted when my father came home. My mother would hug me tight as we listened to heavy feet march through the house to the door of my bedroom. The door would swing open and my father would be standing there with his belt in his hands ready to crake it at me and my mother. My mother would scream for him to go away but never actually fight. I would sit and watch in horror as my father would through my mother to the ground and whip and kick her. Then when he felt done he would turn to me. I knew what to do and I felt that if I just turned around myself it would leave one less bruise on my arm. He'd whip the belt or my back and shoulders. I used to scream, but I had learned if I screamed and cried he would do it harder. So I would try hard to keep to myself. He would curse in slurred Irish as he stumbled out of the room. Once I got control over myself I would go over to my mother who would stay on the floor and sometimes just fall asleep there. This time, what I heard last was my father walking out of the house and the slamming door. Both of my parents knew very well how to put to me sleep.  
  
**Everything is fine dad  
**  
Every morning; my father would be downstairs counting some simple change he had from gambling the night away. My mother would be making something to eat. I'd sit down across from my father and watch him carefully. It would be like nothing happened and everything was just fine, not a single thing wrong was done.  
  
"Good morning." I would whisper. My father would stop his counting and look up at me.  
  
"What do you want, boy?" I wouldn't ever say anything back to him.  
  
"Do you understand why I did what I did last night?" I still said nothing.  
  
"It's to teach you how to be a man; you need to be strong enough for anything. Especially in New York City. I'm going easy on you. I have not used a knife on you or shot at you. People in this city do that; you should be happy that I haven't killed you."  
  
I used to think that I was actually lucky. I wasn't dead yet, and his abuse had made me feel stronger. Soon, the feeling didn't hurt as much and I had gotten used to it, and now I think I can handle almost anything. Well, I believed I did for awhile. My father was just teaching me about life.  
  
**Proud that you are mind dad  
'Cause I know I'm growing up to be a better man  
**  
As his beatings on me grew weak, his beatings on my mother grew worse. I didn't know why he beat her. He never told me why either. My mother would say it's grown up things that I wouldn't understand. But soon I got older. I was about 13 when it all really started to make sense. My mother talked to me less, but we still spent time together. Sometimes, I would go out to the Brooklyn Bridge and sit and stare at the river. It looked so cold and hard, just like my father. And if I were to make one wrong move I would fall and die. I figured out that my father was a lot like this river. It was worse than it looked. More deadly than it seemed. There was a loose board on the docks a little passed the bridge. My father had given me a small, dull knife for my thirteenth birthday. Just incase. I had seen boys in the streets play with wooden swords or had slingshots. I decided that's what I was going to make. I broke the board off the dock and sat down. I figured this would take a long time to get good at this so I look around for over loose boards and ripped them up, too. I walked home with about four boards in my arms. When I turned the corner to head down my street I saw a shadow rush out of my house. It was most likely my father and as I got closer I realized it was. I turned down an alley so he wouldn't see me and beat me. I hid in the shadows of the alley and watched him walk by the alley not even looking in to see if anything was there. I saw something in his hand, but it was too dark to make it out. Once the foot steps had faded off I ran out of the alley and to the house, quickly. I knew my mother needed comfort and I had been out for a while pulling apart the docks.  
  
**Father I will always be  
That same boy that stood by the sea and  
Watched you tower over me  
Now I'm older I want to be the same as you  
**  
I didn't hear anything when I entered the house. No crying, no whimpering, just nothing. I walked into her room and she was lying on her bed on her side. It was so dark I could barely actually see her. It was really just a black lump on a bed. I put my boards down on the floor and approached the bed. My eyes gradually got used to the darkness and I could see some color. My mother wasn't moving. Not even breath was making her move. I gently pushed her over and saw her clothes drenched in her own blood. Her face was pale. Even in the room of night, there was a very distinct look of white to her complexion. I shuddered, "No." I fell to my knees and stared at her face. I stayed there for what felt like forever, holding her stiff hands in mine. My mother is gone, and she's never coming back.  
  
I rushed out of the house and in the same direction as my father once went. As I got closer to the bridge, I saw two people standing near each other. One was my father. I could always tell it was him no matter how dark or light the atmosphere was. The other looked like a young lady, and as I walked on, I could see she was wearing a very revealing costume. She seemed to already know my father, too. My father was a disgusting man. I guess I could have figured that my mother and father weren't into each other since he had his son and that was enough. I just never thought he would cheat like that. I thought he was just a little bit better than that.  
  
**What's a dad for dad?  
Taught me how to stand dad  
Took me by the hand and you  
Showed me how to be a bigger man dad  
**  
I sat on the docks alone. I had found another loose board and decided to make my slingshot. I wasn't going to try and kill anyone unless I really had to, so making a slingshot would be my way of defense. It made more sense at the time. As I carved into the wood I thought about my father. He taught me more than I had ever really thought about. He taught me how to be a man and to protect myself. He never taught me how to protect other people, like my mother, but it's too late. My father taught me how to swim when I was just so young. He threw me in the water out of angry and I scream and yelled but he didn't do anything. I was kicking and screaming long enough to realize how to keep my head above water. He taught me how to play poker. It impressed him how good I was since he wasn't too good at it himself. He taught me that you can't trust everyone. People will tell you lies and you sometimes have to tell them, too. He taught me how to curse, only because he did it so much. He also taught me how to speck some Irish. He taught me how to live life right. Fight to the very end. However, he never really taught me how to fight. He gave me a knife but what good was that if I didn't want to kill anyone. No one was after me; anyway, I had no one to kill.  
  
I jumped when I heard my father's feet step down onto the dock. I turned to look at him and saw that thing that was in his hand before was a thick, black gun. I knew I shouldn't be scared but I was. He killed my mother, why shouldn't he kill me now.  
  
"Get up." He ordered and I obeyed. He put the gun down and walked up to me. He stared right into my eyes, not even a blink. I never really made much eye contact with my father and it was now that I realized how blue they were, much like my own. I started to tremble. He never taught me how to fight, and now I had decided tonight, right now, was going to be my first lesson. He deserved it anyway. He killed my mother. I put my hands to his chest and pushed him back. He growled and charged at me. I panicked and shot my fist forward and it hit him right in the stomach. He stumbled back but quickly recovered and charged again. This time I didn't reacted as well because at that next moment I was on my back and my eye was throbbing in pain. I forced my hurt eye open to see my father pointing a gun at me.  
  
"Get up." He said again and again I obeyed. I thought fast and kicked him in the groin. The gun fired but only shot a couple of crates behind me. I took this opportunity to take advantage of my father and punched him in the face. He fell to the ground and dropped the gun. I kicked it into the water and then kicked him in the gut. I was kicking him repeatedly but then I stopped. I was just like him. Beating my own family until they died. Why did I care anymore, I had nothing left now that my mother was gone, and my father was a deadly man. He groaned and rolled over to his side. I kicked him in the back again and again, then I picked him up with the strength I never knew I had and looked him in the eye and said, "Go to hell," before throwing him to the river. He went straight down as the bubbles that held his last breathe floated to the surface. He taught me how to swim even though he didn't know how. When I threw him the water I had already known that.  
  
_But how?_  
  
I realized that my father and I are so much alike. He had control over himself, as I do now. No one could get in my way, and if I trust no one I can fight to the end and win. I was going to do as my father did. Be on my own, I thought the best place to start was at a bar.  
  
**Listen when you talk dad  
Follow where you walk dad  
And you know that I will always do the best I can  
**  
I forced myself to drink the strong liquor. I must have looked a lot like my father because when I sat at the bar the man knew what to get me and then called me Mr. Conlon. After awhile I got used to the drink and soon grew very fond of it. I knew I should have stopped but I couldn't help myself.  
  
I had lost track of time, but sometime later in the night, I was tapped on the shoulder. I turned to see a beautiful woman, with a big smile, wearing a tight corset, standing behind me. She gave me a light kiss on the mouth and gave me a look like I was supposed to know her. This must be that young lady I saw my father with before.  
  
"Hello Mr. Conlon, how are you doing?" her voice was soft and sent chills through my body.  
  
"Alright I guess. What's your name?" she giggled and ran a fragile hand threw my hair.  
  
"Roslyn, silly," she giggled again, "You say my name all the time." She winked at me. God, she was beautiful. "How much money do you have?"  
  
I stuck my hands in my pockets and pulled out a few coins. I didn't know where they came from. I didn't put them there. At least I didn't remember I did. She smile and nodded her head to a door on the other side of the room. She walked over to it and I followed. I was in a trance or something because my body was moving all on its own. I felt possessed by her and she was a witch. But a beautiful witch. The room was small and dark, but I could still see with the light of the moon coming through a small window and a flame was lit on the other side of the room. There was a bed, a desk and very little space. Roslyn came up behind me a squeezed my shoulders, leaning close to my ear.  
  
"I know that you're not the real Mr. Conlon. You must be that son he talks about," he talks about me? "You seem more my style, younger, but your too tense. Relax." Her voice was warm in my ear and I started to feel things I wasn't used to feeling. Not that I have never been alone with myself, but this just seemed different. There was someone really here with me. She stepped in front of me, and took my face in her hands, and closed the space between our lips. I wasn't exactly sure what to do, but I had to think fast. I found that I am very good at that and soon my hands were wrapped around her and I was untying her corset. Not like I had much to compare her to, but she was beautiful. Somehow, all of our clothes were off and we were lying on the dinky bed together. I had never done anything like this before. I was really on my own and becoming a man. My father did it, so why can't I. It's in my blood. I had nothing to be afraid of.  
  
**Father I will always be  
That same boy that stood by the sea and  
Watched you tower over me  
Now I'm older I want to be the same as you  
**  
She was perfect. Everything she did was just perfect. Her skin was smooth, her hair was soft, her body was warm, and everything about her was perfect. I had never been treated so well. She was a whore, it was her job, but she was good at it. I don't know if I was good at it, but she made me believe I was. I've heard that whores pretend, but it seemed too real. Unless she was just really good at pretending. The night felt like it was forever. When it ended it seemed too soon. I had figured out that she wasn't pretending, and three times I had made it real. It made me feel good.  
  
"You're just like your father. Only more my speed and more fresh." She smiled and licked my neck. She got out of bed and slipped her outfit back on and I soon rose out of bed and put my clothes on. She came over to me a planted another kiss on my lips. "I hope to see you soon." She smiled and walked out. I left soon after and decided to go home. But I didn't want to go back to the house where my mother was. I walked for hours and soon found myself sitting in the middle of the Brooklyn Bridge carving my slingshot. When I finished I carved my initials on the handle. SC. I wasn't Liam anymore. I was my father. I was the dirty, abusive Sheridan Conlon.  
  
**The same as you…  
  
Father I will always be  
That same boy that stood by the sea and  
Watched you tower over me  
Now I'm older I want to be the same as you  
**  
Years past and I have found a home at the Brooklyn Newsboy's Lodging House. They gave me the nickname Spot. Some said it was because I was small. Others said it was because my brain was the size of one. The rest said it was just a random idea since there was an 'S' on my slingshot.  
  
I have really become my father. I control the newsies now. They are like my children; my sons. I didn't beat them like my father would have, only if they do something wrong I start a fight. I drink and I gamble and I smoke. I have girls all over me, and I am never alone at night. The only name I remember is Roslyn. I never did see her again, but I guess that was okay. She would probably mention my father and I don't want to ever remember him. Even though he lives in me. He is what possesses me now, and I can't escape him. I think I am an improved version of my father. I don't get drunk every night, and I don't beat the girls I sleep with, and I treat my newsies right. My father was a bad man, and he taught me what not to be.  
  
**When I am a dad dad  
Gonna be a good dad  
Did the best you could dad  
Always understood dad  
Taught me what was right dad  
Opened up my eyes dad  
Proud to call you my dad  
Thank you for my life dad **

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Review!

Yours Truly


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